Shouldn't Have
by ReaperFiction
Summary: Bakura comes home to find that Marik has somehow wrecked their living room. An argument ensues, and in his rage Bakura lets a little secret of his slip out. Thiefshipping one-shot.


"What the bloody hell happened here?!" Bakura exclaimed, taking in the scene in the living room of the dilapidated two-room apartment.

Marik sat in the middle of the mess, nearly in tears. "I was just cleaning, and…"

"And what? You threw one of your hissy-fits and brought my bookcase down across our bloody coffee table?!"

The coffee table wasn't anything special – they'd found it for five bucks at a garage sale – but it was useful. Now it had cracked right in half under the weight of the tall, thin, bookcase. Books were strewn about, spines bent further than they were meant to, pages folded under pages. One of the particularly beat-up ones had even lost a few pages and nearly torn in half at the spine.

As if Bakura hadn't already been in a bad mood.

Marik trembled under his glare. "You know what, why don't you just take your smelly books and_ leave_! It's not like you _like_ it here or anything! Why do you even bother _staying_?!"

Taken aback by the outburst, Bakura didn't reply right away. Some of his anger drained away in the moment of silence. But suddenly it came rushing back. Clenching his jaw, he growled, "Why do I stay? Seriously? You haven't figured it out by now?"

"What…?"

"Perhaps I really should leave!"

"Bakura, I don't…"

"You bloody idiot," Bakura snarled, losing his temper completely. "I'm completely fucking in love with you, Marik!"

He spun on his heel and stormed down the short, decrepit hallway, and into his room. He sat angrily down on the bed and held his head in his hands. Had he really just said that? He shouldn't have said that. Now he had to leave. He'd stopped denying it to himself long ago – Marik was the reason he staying, despite the fact that it meant half his life was being dragged around by the completely oblivious Egyptian, and the rest was working to be able to afford their crappy apartment.

Still, it was clear Marik didn't feel the way about Bakura that Bakura felt about him. It was pure masochism to stay in the apartment, constantly tortured by urges, cravings, longings for anything from a simple kiss on the cheek or a warm hand to hold, to crazy hot sex on the kitchen table. Perhaps he really should leave, get his own apartment. Live his own life, rather than constantly trail behind Marik.

The sound of the door creaking open broke Bakura out of his thoughts. A trembling, tearful Marik poked his head in and gave Bakura a pleading look.

"Please don't leave," he said quietly.

"Why shouldn't I?" Bakura snapped.

Carefully, Marik stepped into the dark room and closed the door behind him. He stood there awkwardly, illuminated by what little of the afternoon light was able to filter through the blue curtains drawn shut over the window. Out of the corner of his eye, Bakura could just make Marik out. He quickly shifted his attention away, however, letting his gaze fall on a pile of laundry on the floor instead.

"I … I need you," Marik said.

Any reply got caught in Bakura's throat. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but that's wasn't it.

"Come on, you know I wouldn't last a day on my own," Marik went on.

Bakura blinked. Of course that was what he meant.

"And I don't just mean that I don't earn enough," Marik added.

"Then what in God's name are you talking about," Bakura grumbled. His heart was pounding in his chest, the buzzing in his head threatening to turn into full-blown panic. He wasn't used to feeling this way, feeling so out of control. It was making him angry.

Marik took a deep breath and lowered himself onto the bed. "I mean, I would … Well … It's just that I…" He shuffled closer to Bakura. "I'd miss you."

Bakura's head snapped in Marik's direction, and the other shrank away before noticing the look in Bakura's coffee eyes. That look was fear. Marik blinked and shifted so that he was as close to Bakura as he could be without touching him.

"I'd be miserable without you, Bakura," he said softly.

"You…" Bakura's voice caught.

It happened so fast that he was barely aware he'd made the decision to do it. He reached out and placed his hand at the back of Marik's neck, pulling him close, finally closing the distance and pressing his lips to Marik's. He used all of his self-restraint to keep himself from shoving the other back onto the bed and climbing on top of him, keeping the kiss soft and careful instead. It was over as quickly as it'd begun. They pulled apart and stared at each other in half-shock.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Bakura murmured.

Marik's cheeks turned pink, and he leaned forward and planted another kiss on Bakura's lips. That was all the encouragement Bakura needed. He slipped his arms around Marik's torso and pulled him onto himself, falling back onto the bed and deepening the kiss. Perhaps it wasn't so bad that he had finally said it.


End file.
